Rise from the ashes
by Zeejay
Summary: A boy plots to slaughter the titans? what will the team do when they meet up with Chester "Cryptic" Ulan, the illusionist.
1. The Tale Begins

Disclaimer- I don't own teen Titans, as per usual.

Rating- PG13- due to violence, cussing, gore, and excessive angst XD

Note- I redid the first chapter of the story to better fit my plot ideas... So, please reread if you read the first version.

When darkness strikes inside someone's mind, and slowly consumes their every waking thought, they start to shows signs of insanity and depression. And it was just the case with Chester Ulan.

The young boy started to fall into the black at only the age of six, when his father nearly murdered him. And it was all downhill from there.

Chester's parents were trailer trash, as was he, his father was a drunk and constantly abused he and his timid mother. Though Chester was the base of his fathers undeniable hatred. And when the hate peaked, his life dwindled away to the point of suicide.

No matter how Chester mulled over thoughts of self-inflicted death, he could never bring himself to it. Instead he stayed alone, and brooded over other's deaths. Cunning he was, in a morbidly cynical way. And soon he had a perfect plot to free his life from this eternal strife.

One night Chester's father drank until he was unconscious, after beating his child throughly of course. And huddled in a corner of their small trailer, with the tang of blood in his mouth, and a scar from his eyebrow down his jaw line re-opened, Chester Ulan watched his father for several minutes until he was sure of the man's immobile state.

Then he made his move.

Chester was thirteen at the time, and his appearance was nothing special. From his black hair, skinny body, and overly short stature. But, his eyes, they were the only noticeable thing about him.

An intense silver iris, with such a hateful outlook on anything that lived. A single glance form those murderous eyes could send all but the criminally insane into hysteria. It was a gift of Chester's that he cherished. For traces of power lay in his gaze and in every act of will be portrayed. He had an uncanny ability to unnerve any man who looked into those malicious eyes.

And it was at these times when Chester was happy.

Currently the sadistic boy stood over his father, a stony expression to his pained face. "You think I'm useless, a mistake. A mistake that needed fixing. I agree with this. But you should've fixed this mistake when it began, now it's out of control." he whispered in a toneless voice, layered with disdain.

"Chester– NO!" scrame the mother, she had a black eye and several scars about her face, a naturally timid woman easy to push-over. Her make-up had long since run from tears, and her black hair was touselled. "Don't.. Don't do this."

Chester looked up at his mother, he was beyond love for both his parents. But he pitied her, she had to go through what he did. "You WANT him to live?" he growled with such ferocity his mother winced and stepped back.

"No no... just, just don't kill him!" she sobbed, her eyes leaking.

"Why?" Chester demanded.

Silent as the grave his mother just turned and fled, she couldn't bear to see her husband die at the hands of their child. She wanted that man to die so bad, but she wouldn't watch.

Chester snorted at how pathetic his mother was, and stuffed a hand in the pocket of his sweatshirt. "Now now Daddy," he hissed. "Time for your nap."

"You've mocked me so these past 13 years, you've hurt me and scarred me." Chester whispered to his unconscious father, not caring that he couldn't hear. "So now– it's your turn." plopping down on the ground beside him, Cryptic started to cut into his fathers skin. Finally his father awoke to the stinging pains of blade separating flesh.

"What t'ell are y'doin'?" he roared sitting up. His son held steady, the knife held at his father's throat.

"I'm killing you, you sick bastard." Chester answered curtly, locking eyes with his father. The man wilted under that curdling gaze.

"Wh-what? Y'can't do-do this!" he sniveled.

"Oh yes I can!" Chester Ulan growled and jammed the blade deep into his fathers chest, jumping up. A small smile tugged at those thin lips, a mere lift of the corners to show satisfaction at the blood pooling about the body.

And it was on that fateful day, that the boy left that damned trailer park and began a new life.

Now that you've read this, please review and announce nay errors in spelling there. And comments or suggestions. Please no flaming and such. If my dark writing is not your style of reading– don't read it. I don't have any fluff or general love or excessive happiness in this story. This is written from a darker perspective of life.


	2. A Power Emerges

Disclaimer- don't own TT yadda yadda.

Life was good, there was no one to bother him, and he had a fear-induced respect amongst his peers.

Then why was Chester 'Cryptic' Ulan so miserable?

Cryptic had been a name other had given him, and he seemed to like it much better than his birth name.

This was a question worth pondering over, and that is just what he did. Though no reliable answer brought itself forward. And no matter how hard and long he sought, Cryptic was lost in the maze of his own mind.

The now fifteen year old Cryptic stretched luxuriously on a park bench, his silver eyes emotionless lost in into the oblivion of thought. His fingers moved without his knowing, fumbling boredly with a lighter. His eyes snapped to the flame, drawn towards it in an uncanny way.

Death by fire... how easy would it be?

Cryptic snorted at himself for such a thought, even though he could be called a murderer– He was perfectly sane. In his own opinion that is.

Yawning he pocketed the lighter and looked over himself. Oh how he'd changed. Cryptic ran a hand through his black hair, it was spiked naturally as it had always been, but the tips were bleached. His clothing was decent for a boy who lived of his thieving exploits, a black t-shirt and baggy many pocketed pants. About his neck was a multitude of necklaces, ranging form his favorite and simple dog collar, to a chain which held a tag with his name. His wrists were similarly outfitted.

Cryptic's face hadn't changed much. Other than the several new piercings, eyebrow, corner of his lip, and one ear, which had black loops in them varying in size. His face was still deathly pale, with the scar running form his eyebrow and along his jowl, even to the unmercifully cold silver eyes that had only grown worse and worse as years passed.

Reminiscing his first year or so on the streets, Cryptic stood and started to walk through the park.

Life had started off rough, and he had spent many a time hidden away to heal his numerous wounds. Though soon he became to be respected by others, in such a way no one tried to harm him any longer.

Without thinking Cryptic touched the scar on the side of his face and instantly hating the flooding memories of his Father. He was dead and gone, how did this still bother him?

Cryptic paused in his stride and gave a milk-curdling glare at the ground. He hated emotions, he hated them all! They seemed to enjoy twisting his mind, he should have been normal, like like... Like those damned 'titans' that proclaimed they were so special.

Oh how Cryptic loathed those 'crime-fighting' heroes. They thought they could do anything, even the dark one, Raven, was a goody twoshoes. They were all so cheery and lead such wonderful lives, being completely famous and adored. How Cryptic wished he could have been a part of that– though after the thought he cursed himself.

That could never happen and it NEVER would, he'd refuse to even side with them. Even if he did have powers.

The sky darkened as a cloud passed over the sun, and immediately Cryptic went rigid as the soft pitter-patter of rain came ot his ears. He dodged into the depths of the park, and found a crop of trees more solitude. He leaned against one just as disaster happened...

Lightning struck the ground, illuminating the darkness of shadow for several seconds. And there, there in the scorched up churned dirt... A spark caught. The shock sped into Chester's body and he instantly collapsed unconscious

Soon a small flame had formed, consuming the dry leaves and needles about it, its hunger eternal. From the fire, came ashes, and form those ashes life brewed. But how was this possible, life from fire? It was simple, Cryptic had a small glimmer of power inside him, and it was using that to create something... something to give him more. Intensified by the rapid heat and growth of the fire, the creature needed one last thing to complete its existence.

Emotions to feed from, and manifest it's mind. And who would be better than the hate driven– Cryptic?

The boy who, from his very first breath, infused his every thought and action with his burning animosity for anything that breathed. Whose name fit him so perfectly... Cryptic: of an obscure nature, 'a deep dark secret,''in it a mysterious past it encompasses all the dim origins of life.'

The fire grew drastically it's colors churning and shifting, the flames lapping at the tree nearby. Until... suddenly the flames spluttered and died, leaving only a pile of blackened ashes and the heavy smell of burning pine...

The rain started to slowly diminish, the occasional drop managing through the thickly wooded glade, and plopping unto the ashes. It stirred them up, with a soft fizzling, but they soon calmed. Until a small wind seemed to pick up about them, and they lifted into the air and fell, as if the gray and black ash was reanimating the flames that created them.

Though, there was no wind to disturb the remains of the fire, but they kept moving nonetheless. It was soon apparent there was some other force giving life to the ashes... Or creating it.

When something is born from ashes, the majority of people would instantly think of a Phoenix. Though, the phoenix is an entirely good creature, wise and strong. And what was formed at this instant was nothing near that, when good can be made– so can evil.

A black tendril stretched out form those ashes, and soon others followed. They all entered Chester's limp body, through anywhere possible. They seethed over him, like a thousand rabid snakes all wishing to get to their meal first.

When Cryptic finally awoke, there was something strange about him... There was... A, presence, to use the term lightly. He rubbed his eyes and glared at the ground, his thoughts tingled and there was a new ferocity to them.

A new.. Strength to them.

Cryptic peered at himself, he felt so strangely changed. A jarring pain flashed through his mind and he dropped to his knees, clawing at his temples. Images flashed before his eyes, of things so horrid– even he couldn't ever imagine doing them. His eyes and nose, pinking at the edges until the point of blood vessels bursting. Blood ran form his nose, and his eyes were open wide, the veins flaring.

It was over in a matter of minutes, and there Cryptic lay, curled up on the semi-damp ground.

Something had happened– and he was bound to find it out the hard way.


	3. Horror Discovered

The change was gradual, such that it'd be hard to notice unless you knew someone well. And coincidentally, anyone who even got close to knowing Cryptic was dead.

When someone's been alone for all their life, they become addicted to the solitude. They aren't that pleased with anyone trying to associate with them. And it was just this with Chester Cryptic, he hated all and every being on this earth... And he stayed alone.

It was because of this that the slow development of his own powers was nearly mistaken for strange occurrences. But these began to happen more and more often to a larger magnitude... Crypt realized he was changed, drastically.

It began in subtle ways, at the dark hours of night nightmares beyond anyone's wildest fantasies racked his rest, stripping him from all sleep he had. Certain colors in his vision grayed out occasionally, until the solitary color he could see was red. And at these times strange things happened around him, some he knew were reported into sanitariums and asylums.

And it was one day during one of these strange times, that the truth finally surfaced from the pool of denial it had been long since drowning in.

Cryptic slipped through the streets of the city like a wraith, his feet muffled by the murk, movements eerily graceful. He just so happened to come across a rather peppy looking person lively talking on his cell-phone, and eyeing the stores at the streets. He moved with the air of one who thought himself higher and more respectable than others, and it was just these people Crypt targeted.

As the man passed, the morose fourteen year old snapped him a piercing glare, his silver eyes directed their full strength on the other's hazel. Just as there eyes met Cryptic imagined some of the worst and terrible scenes involving the peppy man's deaths guessing his fears and weaknesses and explicitly fusing them into nightmares of the awake.

The cell phone shattered upon impact with the stone ground as the man sank to his knees in overly dramatic-at the time it seemed- agony and horrid fear. Clawing at his temples with manicured and clean nails, tearing and ripping skin until his fingers slipped with the blood welling up under them.

All the while the unlikely pair had their eyes locked, no matter what happened the man was frozen in the horrific glory of Cryptic's silver, murderous gaze.

People stopped their walking to watch the nervous breakdown, wincing in the gory scene that was occurring before their innocent eyes. Some dashed off, repulsed by the man ripping flesh form his skull in a mad attempt to pry those dreadful images form his mind...

Images projected by the one and only: Chester Cryptic Ulan.

Recoiling after watching the man with clear amusement, Cryptic staggered back several steps. A hand instantly fluttered to his eyes, breaking the contact. The man, having since gotten to the points of such hysteria that he had only three nails remaining on his once professionally done fingers, collapsed in a heap of cloth blood and distress.

It was then that Cryptic realized that he had done this. That, he.. He did THAT with his mind! His head reeled and he collapsed on the ground, fainted.

Memories fused with thoughts flitted through his slumbering mind, reminiscing of that fateful day in the park when he hid form the rain... It had all started then, realization hit Chester like a cinder block–

He had powers.

Ability to project hallucinations and thoughts into others minds through his eyes.

And when he awoke, several minutes later, Cryptic stood, and locked eyes with someone else... This time he just thought of the most disturbing sexual thing he could think of. The man reacted by wincing and blinking...

Confirmed– Cryptic had power...

Snapping back to reality, he noticed people were grouping, they'd mob him. He had to run. Now. Fast. So turning tail he did just that, fleeing the scene of his first victim.

--

A few hours later, sitting in an alley-way Cryptic mulled over the happenings that had just occurred. So, now he had power? Cool.... now what?

He'd have to find some way to advance and learn to control his power. It seemed eye contact was the key, so a pair of strong sunglasses would solve it. Know came the deep thinking, who would he use his powers against? Who did he hate more than ANYONE.

It struck Cryptic like the lightning that had started this mess- Titans.

The Titans, where their happy little lives in their massive tower, with the publicity, fame, and friends. Everything he didn't have and had once wanted... Once wanted before he murdered his conscience.

But... How would he do that? It'd be idiocy to try it by attack. He'd have to join them somehow. The thought repulsed Chester beyond anything before, but to reach his ultimate goal... He'd have to go through with it. But how he'd manage to join, this was another matter entirely.

So time for decisions came and Crypt did just that, planning and plotting his beginning their end.

--

It was several hours spent, hell-bent on his thoughts, until a plan formed into Cryptic's cynical mind. Though, it was no trouble considering he hadn't slept since his 'incident.' And little did he know– he never would again.

As day light drifted from the sky, and darkness took its shadowy hold upon the land, Cryptic made ready. His plot was simple, but would take some effort and control on his part.

With silent step, and wraith-like grace Chester moved through the damp and rat-littered streets, eyes darting to and fro searching for his victim. Finally his silver eyes met with a pleasant scene, a few gang members were prowling for a victim themselves. So, Crypt whisked off his sunglasses and walked up the tallest one who had the air of authority.

"Hey. You sewer scum find any good pickings in this hell hole?" Cryptic boldly sat and spat at their feet.

The man held back his cronies and buffed up his chest, a knife in one hand. "You talkin' to me dumbshit? Yer the only scum here you fag! Wanna say that to my face, huh? Y'too scared? Pipsqueak." he brandished the blade threateningly as he spoke.

Cryptic snorted at this, keeping his cool while inside he boiled. The one thing that easily pissed him off was the fact that he was rather... Short. "You know... When you don't know someone it's a bad idea to piss 'em off." Then he locked eyes with the gang leader and concentrated on filtering his power in small amounts. "Scared of me now bastard?"

The others flipped and tackled Cryptic, pummeling him to the ground. He took the beating with ease, all the while managing to keep a lock on the leader. Soon the prolonged affect of Cryptic's light assault started to affect the once high-and-mighty leader. And finally with a scream of pure terror as the images became worse and worse, the man cowered on the ground, smacking his head.

Eventually a froth began to emit from the man's lips and Crypt knew he had done well, injecting a final image to finish the man off. Of course, having guessed this would happen, the one-time gang leader took his own life, a switchblade shoved through his eye.

At this the others gasped in utter horror and stood back from the small gothic boy. Cryptic cackled as he sat up, sporting two blacks eyes a swollen lip and numerous cuts, "I told you it was a bad idea. See what happened to your little friend? He realized it a bit too... late."

The gang turned tail and fled, all save one. And this very one withdrew a semi-auto pistol form his tattered jacket. "Die motherfuckah'."

Crypt cursed, his last hope was the teen Titan coming soon or else he'd have to kill another and explain this second mysterious death. "HELP!" he scrame. "SOMEONE GET THE TITANS!" He yelled as loud as he could, hoping someone would hear... And hear they did.

They heard just as the armed man cocked his gun and pulled the trigger.


End file.
